


Darkly Home (Upon a Midnight Clear)

by Nimori



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Incest, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 16:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimori/pseuds/Nimori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the last Christmas before everything goes to hell, and Sirius gets a reminder of life with little brothers -- and their annoying friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkly Home (Upon a Midnight Clear)

A blast of cold air swirled into the dingy lobby with Sirius, stirring eddies of crumpled wrappers -- chocolate, gum, condom -- and ruffling the man huddled by the stairs. Sirius glanced at him as he stomped his boots on the mat, but had to clutch at the door frame as he almost lost his balance, snickering at himself. The transient wore damp robes, or possibly a muggle trench coat, and hunched with his head on his knees, hair wet and stringy with melted snow.

He didn't look up, even when Sirius's balance threatened to send him sprawling right on top of the man. Humanitarianism rolled over Sirius, warm like the rum, and he dropped his handful of muggle change on the floor; he hadn't been able to navigate his pockets to put it away anyhow. It clattered on the cheap linoleum and most of it rolled out of reach.

"Happy Christmas, mate." Sirius's voice resounded in the stairwell, and he wondered if it was the acoustics or if he was still speaking too loudly. Lily had tried to shush him earlier, and he hadn't liked that much at all. Lily was always shushing him.

The man grunted a vague reply, but Sirius couldn't fault him for his lack of holiday cheer. He supposed he'd be surly too, if he had to sleep in the stairwell. He sang a loud carol as he climbed the stairs, half to spread cheer to his neighbours and assorted transients and half in retaliation for all the earlier shushing, even though Lily was home in bed and couldn't appreciate the hours-late rejoinder.

Mostly, he just felt like singing.

The doors lining the third-floor corridor all looked the same: scuffed green paint, tarnished knobs, black stenciled numbers that might have helped if Sirius could remember his address. The key would not fit in 302, and 305 smelled of rotten cabbage, and 309 had a baby crying somewhere within. He started to wonder if he even lived on the third floor, and whether it might be easier to sleep off his excess of Christmas cheer curled up as a dog with the bum in the stairwell.

"Fuck you, James," he said to the unbudging door of 307. "If you'd trusted me with the floo I wouldn't be in this mess." There'd been a muggle cab. James had told the driver Sirius's address, but not his flat number, the bastard.

The door of 303 opened at a touch, and it seemed this was where he lived, because there was his listing orange sofa and his socks on the floor and his wilted poinsettia that stood in for a Christmas tree because all his presents were at James and Lily's house only they'd sent him home for the night because apparently he'd missed a dozen signals that they wanted to shag and wouldn't let them go to bed.

"Excuse me for wanting to talk to my fucking friends," he muttered, then fell still because the lights were on in the bedroom and bathroom, and he could see bottles and towels flung everywhere in the latter and the sink overflowing to the floor. And Sirius never left his door unlocked; he apparated or used the floo most of the time, which in retrospect had impaired his flat-locating abilities as much as the rum. It occurred to him that this was a bad moment to be drunk. He drew his wand anyway.

He did attempt stealth, but on the second step a lamp -- he was nowhere near it! -- fell to the floor. He needn't have bothered anyway; the man lying prone on his bed was unconscious. Possibly dead. There was certainly enough blood.

More bottles -- potions from his own medicine chest, he saw -- and red-stained towels littered the bedroom, and even drunk Sirius reckoned he was a match for his intruder. He prodded a bare shoulder, and when he got no response, rolled the body over.

"You little _shit_," Sirius said, too loud again, but he had every reason now. "You'd better not have come here so you could die in my flat on Christmas eve." He fumbled at his brother's neck for a pulse, and Regulus proved himself alive by moaning.

"I should call the aurors on you," Sirius muttered, even as his hands began the too familiar job of assessing injury. He discovered a wand in a fold of the sheets, and threw it across the room.

"'Py Chris'as t'you too."

"What the fuck happened to you? One of the families you attack fight back?"

Regulus grunted as Sirius dug under the hasty bandage on his back; blister curse, already treated. "No."

"Lost an argument to an auror then?" If Regulus had reached his own shoulder blades to patch them, Sirius would take the Dark Mark, but if anyone else was in his three-room flat, they were doing a damn good job of hiding.

"No-- ah, don't. Hurts."

"Stop whining. And answer the goddamn question."

"Had a... a dis'greement with Bella."

Sirius's lips pressed together, and he promised himself a good long rant about his brother's choice of mates once Regulus was not bleeding on his sheets. Which would be soon, as the potions were already working. Whoever had patched Regulus up had done a decent, if rushed job. "Who brought you here?"

Regulus flinched and closed his eyes, and Sirius swore. He cast a wobbly binding spell to keep his brother on the bed and ran out the door, wand in hand.

Snape was gone from the stairwell, but Sirius found him outside, eyeing the narrow balconies and the third-floor windows. He didn't trust his mouth to a duel without slurring his spells so he rushed at Snape, who drew with the same lightning reflexes as always but lost his aim when he slid on the dirty snow. Sirius tackled him, and they went down in a jumble of elbows and robes and ice and curses.

Sirius grunted as a knee drove into his stomach, but kept his weight on Snape's wand arm. His own wand sank into the snow. Snape's teeth sank into his shoulder. Something snapped. Both froze.

"Was that... yours... or mine?" Sirius asked. His chest, mashed against Snape's, battled for room to breathe. Snape didn't answer, but his face went pale, and after a brief struggle, Sirius fished half a wand from between them.

"Dragon heartstring. I should have guessed." Sirius pocketed the two halves, recovered his own wand, and allowed Snape to sit up. The man looked like a stray kneazle, hair wet and disheveled, robes bunched, eyes narrowed and darting between Sirius and the alley as though weighing fight or flight. Sirius didn't mean to laugh, but a snort escaped anyway, and Snape's mouth pinched into a short puckered line that only made him look even more ridiculous and Sirius wished he could go back to being happily drunk instead of drunk and trying not to be.

"What were you doing breaking into my flat?"

Snape scrunched up his face further. "If it escaped your notice, your brother has been injured."

"But why bring him to me?"

"It was closest," Snape said, looking away down the alley, and Sirius kicked him. "And he insisted." Beetle-black eyes returned to him and a thin upper lip rose. "I never would have brought him here if I'd known you'd come staggering home drunk."

"It's Christmas, Snivellus. You know, that time when people who have friends socialize with them?" It occurred to him that Snape might have been socializing with Regulus and Bellatrix, and he wrinkled his nose. "Death Eater holidays. Never mind," he added as a frown creased Snape's brow. "Up. March. And don't even think about running. I've got your wand, and I'm sure Priori Incantatum can be cast on it once it's repaired. I hear they're tossing _his_ lot into Azkaban without a trial these days, so you'd better hope they don't find _Morsmordre_ in the spell record. Shut up," he added, even though Snape hadn't said anything, just in case he'd said the spell wrong. Latin wanted extra syllables when he was drunk.

Snape sulked all the way back to the third floor. The stairwell echoed with only their footsteps and grated Sirius's nerves until he decided winning the fight entitled him to a victory song. The first few bars he hummed prompted a growl from Snape, so Sirius launched into full song.

"You're a mean one, Mr Snape. You really are a heel. You're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel, Mr Snape. Come on, Snape, sing with me. You know the words -- heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, you've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Snaaaa-ape. I wouldn't touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!"

James had found that far more amusing than Snape did.

"You've no Christmas spirit," Sirius said as he herded Snape into the flat.

"And you've no vocal tal-- What have you done to him?"

Regulus had managed to free one side of his body and slither half off the bed. One leg and part of his torso clung to the mattress, sheets bunched near the spell's pressure points, and he had rumpled his bandages into a twisted wreck. His head rested on the floor at an excruciating angle. He glared up at Sirius as they entered.

"Don't blame me, I left the wanker snug in the bed," Sirius said. "Well, Snivellus? If you're so concerned, you can patch up his sorry hide again."

Snape offered no more argument than a thin-lipped glare, and that, to Sirius's surprise, he aimed at Regulus.

*****

"Are you going to turn me in?"

Sirius blinked. He'd been staring at the strange mark on his brother's arm, twirling his wand, listening to Snape right the mess he'd made in the bathroom. Sirius had cleaned the bed with a spell, but he could still smell blood in the air. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Regulus frowned. The sulky expression only made him prettier, which might explain why everyone in their family looked so sour all the time. "I already told you. I disagreed with Bellatrix."

"You did not. Tell me the truth."

"It is the truth."

"Poncy little boot-licker like you? Try again, Regulanus."

"_Don't_ call me that. And just because Bella likes me--"

"Bella likes you 'cause you kiss her arse."

Regulus grunted, then hissed and poked his bandages. "I do not kiss her arse. If I had she wouldn't have cursed half the skin off my back, would she? And if you don't believe me you can kiss _my_ arse."

"All right," Sirius said. Regulus looked astonished until Sirius slapped his leg. "I mean I believe you."

"Why now?"

Sirius shrugged. "You can't lie when you're angry."

"I can so."

"Can't. You say the first thing that comes to mind, and it's always either utterly ridiculous or the truth."

Silence for a moment, then, "I hate you."

"Happy Christmas to you, too."

*****

Once it became clear Sirius wasn't going to hex either of them or summon the aurors, Snape proved impossible to evict. Sirius avenged himself by consigning the sullen bastard to the lumpy orange sofa until morning and sobriety arrived to offer him ideas on what to do about his houseguests, but Snape kept getting up to lurk in the bathroom and hall outside the bedroom. Sirius watched from the bed with a cheerful smile, propped up against the headboard next to his brother with a box of Every-Flavour Beans, as Snape invented ridiculous tasks to bring him into the bedroom.

Sirius felt as though he'd stepped back in time and into his parents' house, and his snot-nosed and handkerchief-dribbling little brother had once again decided only Sirius's room would do to recover from the Doxie Pox. There was the same reluctant pleasure of sharing sweets in bed and watching his picture books act out the stories, his brother's chatter providing all the sound. Only now the book spread over Sirius's lap was a Quidditch magazine -- the trashy one with the big-titted witches straddling the new broom models -- and there was a newly opened bottle of Odgen's on the bedside table next to the sweets, and if Regulus passed out Sirius would not scream in fright and earn himself a 'talk' from their father.

"No," Sirius said.

Regulus, who lay flat on his back as Snape had forbidden him to sit up until the new skin on his back had set again, left off trying to sneak looks at the magazine cover through Sirius's fingers and blinked at him. "No what?"

"I'm not going to turn you in."

"Oh."

"You could say thank you."

"You could not act like you're Mother fucking Theresa for not handing your own blood over to be executed or imprisoned for life."

"Do you even know who Mother Theresa is?"

"No." There was a short silence. "Would you put that down and talk to me?"

"Mu-um," Sirius said, "Sirius won't play with me. Mu-um, Sirius won't share his wand with me."

"Mu-um, Sirius locked me in the cupboard with Molcher's severed head and traumatized me for life."

Their eyes met, upside-down and around the magazine edge, and they goaded each other in silence until a smirk escaped over Sirius's mouth and Regulus snorted and then they were both laughing.

"What's going on in here?" Snape appeared in the doorway, glaring at Sirius. "Regulus needs to rest." There was another silence, and Sirius was reluctant to break it to start another row though he knew he must, if only to show Snape he couldn't order a Black -- either of them -- about.

"Yes, Mum," Regulus said before Sirius could speak, and the moment passed. Sirius burst into laughter again. Snape flushed a dark red and stormed back to the living room. Sirius was sure Regulus missed the departing glare Snape aimed at him. He sunk lower in the bed, and stretched out next to Regulus. The magazine tumbled to his chest.

"Do you remember Miss Dile?" Regulus asked suddenly, and Sirius shuddered.

"I try not to. I'd take Snivellus as a nurse over her any day."

"Wonder where the old battle-axe is now."

"Rotting in hell, I hope."

Regulus turned a little towards him. "She's the one who made you hate me, didn't she?"

Sirius snorted. Miss Dile might have been the Devil's spawn, but Regulus was the one who sorted into Slytherin, who obeyed Bellatrix's every command, who slid slowly into the dark...

It had been dark and close and Miss Dile hadn't been shocked at all.

"Shit." Sirius scrubbed his face, and took a swig from the bottle. He passed it to Regulus. "I'd forgotten the wardrobe."

"Typical," Regulus said, and drank.

Sirius darted a glance at the door, certain Snape was watching, but the spidery feel of eyes on his skin was only his imagination. "Do you think," Sirius began, but Regulus's hot whiskey-damp mouth covered his and swallowed the rest.

*****

Their last kiss had been in the dark, hot and humid and airless. Regulus had tasted of Pepper Imps and sweat and he squirmed beneath Sirius, maybe as part of the game, maybe because Sirius was squashing him. There were too many clothes, on them and around them, and they should have thought to take off their robes before they shut the door, and now there was no room, lying fully clothed in the wardrobe, too close, mimicking passion and slopping kisses on each other and shivering to thrill of doing It even if It turned out to be less exciting than the adults had fooled them into believing.

Until light and cool air rushed over them, both a shock and a relief, and they blinked like dumb nifflers, blinded by daylight or fool's gold, at their stiff-backed and quirk-browed governess.

_Miss Dile hardly smiles 'cause she drinks her tea with bile and when she smiles it's so vile, she was born a crocodile, and she'll bite you all the while that she smiles._

Regulus had invented the song and it was true; a smiling Miss Dile was about to eat those she smiled at.

Or worse.

Sirius had wanted the close heat of the wardrobe back. Wanted the clothes Miss Dile vanished, wanted to stop his hands from creeping forward to cover himself, wanted to be far away from the brother who stood, naked shoulder trembling against his own, under the bug-eyed stares the house-elves Miss Dile had summoned to play audience.

_Do continue, Master Sirius. No? Tsk tsk, shall I summon the human staff next? Your parents? I thought not._

Turning to Regulus, who'd begun crying, afraid because the house-elves weren't supposed to titter at them, even if they had to pinch themselves after. Touching the clammy skin that had seemed soft and interesting in the dark and now felt like the dead octopus Sirius had once snuck into the kitchen to poke, all clammy and wrong-textured.

_I know what you were doing with your brother, Master Sirius._

So do it.

Regulus had stayed out of his room after that. Sirius might have missed him more if he weren't so busy being relieved.

*****

Miss Dile hadn't been shocked to catch them, oh no. She'd been _gleeful_.

This kiss tasted of whiskey and the bitter potion Snape had fed Regulus, and it was hard to remember the reasons they hated each other when Regulus wound his fingers in Sirius's shirt, as if to hold him in place. The slick pages of the magazine crackled and slid between his forearms and Sirius's chest. His tongue invaded Sirius's mouth. Intrusive, demanding... the sort of kiss Sirius more often gave than received.

_No wonder I'm so popular_, Sirius thought muzzily, _if I kiss like that_. He tore free, and ignored the flicker of fear before Regulus's expression closed.

"Are you going to get all preachy now?" Regulus asked.

"What?" His trousers were too tight, so he undid them.

"Because we're brothers. I mean those friends of yours have you convinced mudbloods are brilliant, so I never know how else they've affected your thinking, and you did throw a wobbly when Narcissa married her cousin on Aunt Delphinium's side..."

"Regulus?" Sirius had no idea what his friends thought of incest, and didn't really care. "Shut up and suck me off."

Regulus blinked, and then his jaw thrust out. "You suck me off."

"No, you."

"You."

"You."

"I've only to take off my pants."

Sirius shucked trousers and pants in one go, and tore his shirt over his head. "There."

"But I'm hurt." Regulus's voice crept into a whine.

"You're almost healed," Sirius said, and poked his brother's side. Regulus whimpered and turned three shades paler. "Oh fine, if you're going to be a big girl's blouse about it."

He knee-walked to the end of the bed, almost slipped off when the blanket shifted against the sheets, and slapped Regulus's thigh when he laughed. "Shut up. And spread your legs more."

"I still have my pants on."

"And stop whinging." Sirius glared, mostly because Regulus had a point, and pushed his brother's legs up to slide the pants off. The waist was stiff with blood. Sirius threw them to the floor.

Regulus's legs fell to either side in an artful sprawl that Sirius admired as a blatant imitation of his own feline grace. He liked thighs, and Regulus's were particularly fine: firm and pale and smooth-skinned and even the dark curling hair was soft. His pubic hair looked as well-tended as a formal garden, and Sirius wondered who he was fucking.

_Me_, Sirius thought, and laughed aloud.

"I'm not that much smaller," Regulus said, scowling. "And it's cold in here and my back hurts. Give me a minute." He fumbled for his half-hard cock, and Sirius slapped his hand away.

"I said I'd get it."

"Then stop staring and start sucking." Regulus realized his error even before Sirius's older-brother instincts rose to defend his position. "Oh come on. I'll do you next," he wheedled. "You can sit on my chest--"

"You'll do me now," Sirius growled. He clambered higher, kneeing Regulus's ribs twice before settling on his chest. Sirius worked one foot to the ground to take more of his weight and steadied himself with one hand on the headboard. The other guided his cock to his brother's compressed lips. "Open."

Regulus's mouth tightened further, but the corners twitched. Sirius grinned and teased the head over his lips, leaving a sheen of precome.

"I can sit here all night, Regulanus."

"Don't call--"

Sirius shoved his cock in. "So gullib-aaah. Oh fuck yeah. Take it. Take it all in." Regulus gave the skin on Sirius's inner thigh a vicious pinch, and then settled his hands on Sirius's arse and relaxed his jaw. His tongue caressed the shaft, velvet-soft. Sirius tipped back his head, let simple pleasure cut through the complications that had crept in over the years and knotted his life into Gordian complexity. His brother had a whore's mouth, honest in its sin.

He tangled his fingers in Regulus's hair, then let them slide down past his temples to cup his face. Regulus moaned but Sirius fucked his mouth though it and his cock stuttered the moan like his bike on a cold morning before it roared to life.

_Mmm-mmm-mmm..._

He looked down at his brother and the damp pink lips and dark-rimmed sex-hooded eyes. You're gorgeous, he didn't say. It didn't matter. All the Blacks were, and they all knew it.

A tinkling crash broke their tangled gazes, and _Miss Dile, she's so vile_ reared black and ugly. He looked over his shoulder, something deep down inside of him expecting a row of amused hard-eyed house elves, but knowing it was only Snape.

His hand was curled as though still holding whatever he had dropped, and his lips were parted, his eyes wide. Sirius waited for the sneer, wondering if Snape would try blackmail or simply take out an ad in the Prophet to announce he had caught the Black brothers shagging. Snape's crowd was all for incest so long as the children were healthy (and even if they weren't at least they were pure), but Sirius had sensed a taboo amongst his own circle that went further than Miss Dile's crocodilian disapproval, and he didn't quite comprehend all the nuances of it but knowing how his friends felt suddenly seemed a whole lot more important than it had five minutes ago. Sirius's ignorance wouldn't stop James and Lily from saying he couldn't see Harry if the taboo turned out to be worse than he thought.

No sneer materialized, however. If anything, Snape looked hurt. His mouth closed and his shoulders rose and he spun around, glass crunching under his shoes.

"Severus!" Regulus tried to sit but tangled with Sirius, who was still half on top of him. "Severus, wait. You can join us."

Sirius couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing.

Snape had stopped and looked back, but at Sirius's outburst he flushed and stomped off to the living room, and Regulus swatted Sirius on the arse.

"Go and fetch him at once." The autocratic tone only set Sirius off again. "I reckon I can get him to let you fuck him."

Sirius stopped laughing. "Why would I want to?"

Regulus considered a moment. "Because you can." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "All right... because if he tells anyone he caught us together, the part about him joining in will discredit his story. No one will believe you touched him."

"God, you're such a Slytherin," Sirius muttered, and climbed off the bed and his brother.

"It's handy now and again," Regulus said modestly.

"Snape!"

Snape was at the drinks cabinet, which was nothing more than a bookcase crammed with booze and a few glasses.

"Stop drinking my whisky and get back in the bedroom like Regulus told you." Snape only hunched his shoulders more, and Sirius stepped closer, pressed his mouth close to Snape's ear, shivering as the greasy hair brushed his cheek, too aware of his own nudity. "I'm guessing Regulus doesn't know you fancy him. Or is it you he's been fucking?"

A tremour broke Snape's pose. "He's fucking Bellatrix. And her husband."

"She caught them? Is that what happened?"

"No, no." Snape's laugh lacked any mirth. "He's fucking them together."

"Well," Sirius said. Everything he thought of to follow would only make him sound like a prick, so he chose the one that would get him laid. "Can't let my little brother show me up with his little ménage a trois. Into the bedroom with you."

*****

"Merlin's bollocks, you really can talk anyone into anything," Regulus said, sitting up as Sirius herded Snape to the bed. "I want to watch you fuck him, Sirius."

"I don't want him to fuck me," Snape said.

"Don't be stupid, Severus. He's not going to let you fuck him, and you're not going to let me up long enough to fuck anyone. Stop arsing around and take off your clothes."

"That's my boy!" Sirius crowed. He leapt onto the bed and dropped to his knees, bouncing, and leaned over Regulus to chase his mouth. The kiss was just as hot and demanding as the last, and Sirius growled into it, and bit the soft lower lip until his brother moaned.

After a long moment -- during which Snape might have left or died or levitated himself out the window for all Sirius remembered his presence -- the bed dipped, and pale shaking hands parted Regulus's thighs. Sirius shifted to accommodate, and then sprawled back to watch as Snape's lips parted over the head of Regulus's cock. It wasn't a pretty mouth, and Sirius felt somewhat offended at the sight of it sucking such a lovely cock. He touched his own, aching and damp-tipped, and tried to imagine Snape's thin lips working over him and couldn't.

_Isn't he cold_, Sirius wanted to ask, _like marble? Aren't his teeth rough?_

But Regulus was kissing him again, with lips of sculpted warmth, one hand on the greasy head bobbing between them. Regulus brought their hips into alignment with a serpentine wriggle, and Snape's face slid along Sirius's cock. The head left wet trails and caught in the hollowed cheeks, and stubble rasped against the shaft in a way that made Sirius shiver despite himself.

"Take us both," Regulus broke the kiss to say, and he clasped their cocks together so Snape had no choice if he wanted to keep going, and of course he did because he fancied Regulus, and Sirius laughed into his brother's hungry mouth.

Snape's mouth wasn't pretty, but it wasn't cold and he covered his teeth with his lips and Sirius might have wondered where the git learned to suck cock except he really didn't want to know. He thrust, felt wet tongue and wet cock against his own, thrust again. Regulus pinched one of his nipples, twisting hard, and Sirius almost came in Snape's face.

"Let's take him together." Regulus spoke as though suggesting they ask their parents for a puppy and a knife, all eagerness and expectation of approval.

"He's not fucking me," Snape said, and they both ignored him.

"I want to feel you next to me inside him, Sirius."

Sirius frowned. "Will he yell? I don't want to listen to him."

"You know the prep charm? Just cast it two or three times and he'll loosen right up."

"You've done this before?" Sirius tried not to be impressed as Regulus nodded. "With Bella and Lestrange? You're full of shit. Our dear cousin would never let you."

Regulus flushed. "She wasn't... She knows this spell that gives her a..."

"Oh, Regulus. You didn't." Sharp teeth grazed him, a reminder that Snape did not like to be ignored, and Sirius absently yanked on his hair. "That's pathetic, even for a whiny tosser like you."

Snape sat up. "He is not. Fucking. Me."

"Merlin's hairy bollocks, Severus," Regulus said, "stop whinging and take what's offered before Sirius changes his mind." The _and be grateful either of us is bothering with you_ didn't need to be said. "Come, sit on my lap. Let me fuck you."

Snape's protests faltered, and when Sirius bothered to look his expression was angry and cornered. _He's on to you, little brother, but you've got him anyway._ Sirius wanted to laugh, but he wanted to play this new game even more, so he sat still and watched as Regulus coaxed Snape, and cast the right charms when Regulus asked.

They had an absurd appeal, joined. Beauty and the beast, opposites attract and all that rubbish made real and sensual. They moved slowly, greedy desperation guiding Snape's hips, Regulus lording over the act and more than half focused on Sirius's reaction.

As he should be.

Sirius reached around Snape's hips to cup his brother's balls. _The real treasure of the noble and most ancient House of Black,_ he thought, and wondered what their mother would do if Sirius sent Regulus back without them. He squeezed. Regulus moaned, and for a moment Sirius could not believe his brother trusted him so.

But of course Regulus trusted him because Regulus _knew_ him, and Sirius only slid his fingers higher, along Regulus's cock and inside Snape.

He was warm -- too warm, and there went James's theory about vampires -- and only tight when Sirius added a third finger. _This could work._ The thought was exciting, and Sirius swung around behind Snape, pushing him forward as Regulus pulled him down.

"You're so lucky," Regulus whispered to Snape. "I almost wish I were you, so I could have this."

"Shut up, you narcissistic little bastard," Snape hissed, but Regulus just laughed. Snape hadn't screamed yet, so Sirius withdrew his fingers and edged closer, until he could feel the heat of Snape's body against the head of his cock. He rubbed against his brother's balls and the base of his cock, felt the slick glide of a spell every young wizard learned within weeks of arriving at school, even if they didn't have much use for it yet. Nicer than lotion. Not as nice as real lube from a cauldron.

Snape didn't scream when Sirius pushed inside him alongside Regulus. He _moaned_, a long, low sound that tightened everything inside Sirius and made him want to kiss openmouthed and feel someone's breath across his tongue.

He bit Snape's shoulder instead, and rocked forward, firm and slow until all three of them cried out. Different sounds, Sirius noted, different pitches, different degrees of urgency. He didn't recognize his own.

Regulus so hard against him, Snape so soft around them both; it had always been the opposite, and Sirius wondered how this changed _him_, and decided not to care when Regulus began moving counterpoint to his thrusts, just enough to feel it, just enough to make everything surge.

"Sirius," Regulus gasped, and struggled up, expression pained as the new skin on his back tightened. Sirius met him, squeezing Snape to the side, and their mouths tangled, tongues colliding between lips, and the currents inside Sirius pulled him back, fed him to the undertow and he felt like he had sunk inside a box inside himself as he broke their kiss. He thrust again, hard, clutching Snape's bony hips to hold him, to keep them together inside him.

"Sirius!" Regulus gasped as Snape came, and the sudden angry hunch of Snape's shoulders pulled Sirius's pleasure after him.

*****

And because Sirius could never let anything go until he'd finished it, he let Regulus fuck him, after. Slicked up his brother's cock, straddled his hips, sank down and rode him while Regulus clutched at his thighs and cried his name again.

Snape watched and smoked Sirius's cigarettes and didn't say anything, and when it was over, Sirius sent him back to the couch.

*****

"Are you awake?"

Sirius snorted into his pillow. "Wha' kind of stupid question is that? Am I supposed to answer no?" And then, when Regulus didn't answer, "Well? Were you just checking to see if you could get away with pinching my nose shut?" Sirius rolled over, and caught a hint of a smile. "Brat."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"You're being awfully agreeable for someone who wants my friends dead." Regulus was quiet, and Sirius reached for the pack of fags Snape had dropped on the floor. "What, your little pureblooded club not all you dreamed of?"

"I miss you." Said so softly he might have imagined it, except Regulus's fingers were stroking his hair. "It used to be us against the world and Miss Dile."

Sirius struggled for a reply, but in the end there was only one thing between them, and he could feel it hot against his chest where his brother's left arm lay over him. His wand tip flared, and he took a deep drag. "Get out of it, Regulus. Get out, and then come and see me."

"It's not that easy, Sirius. You don't just quit _his_ service."

Sirius was silent. He'd finished one cigarette and lit another, and thought Regulus had gone back to sleep when he spoke again.

"I... I'll try. I think Severus might come with me."

Sirius exhaled, and watched the smoke shift colours. "I don't give a shit what Snape does."

"Well, I do."

_No, you don't_, Sirius wanted to say. _You like his attention and you like that he'll do anything for you but you don't care about anyone but yourself._ But he thought Regulus might try to say the same about him and James and he didn't want to hear it.

"Go back to sleep," he said instead, and they did, with the grey light from the window running over them, alive with falling shadows.

It was snowing again.

*****

"Sweet Merlin, what the fuck happened here?"

Sirius wormed deeper into the pillow to escape voice and sunshine, but James landed on his back and the whole bed heaved. "You have a party after we tossed your arse into a cab?"

"Could say that," Sirius mumbled. His mouth tasted like expired Pepper-Up and Snape-flavoured grease.

"It's almost noon. Harry's getting impatient to open his presents."

"Harry just learned to sit up without falling over. He doesn't know what the fuck a present is."

"All right, _I'm_ getting impatient to open presents. You invited yourself for Christmas, the least you could do is show up at some ungodly hour of the morning and drag us out of bed."

Funny, he'd thought James and Lily invited him, and maybe they had and James was just taking the piss, but it all seemed sour as the fading taste of sex in his mouth.

"Go and take a hangover potion and get dressed, Padfoot," James said too loudly into his ear, slapped his arse through the sheet, and disapparated with a bang.

Sirius rolled over, found his cigarettes in the sheets, lit one and lay staring at the bright swath of December-brilliant sky, crisscrossed with stark empty clotheslines. No one did the washing Christmas day. He'd get up in a few minutes, go to James and Lily's, play with Harry's toys more than Harry would, eat until his robes needed an expansion charm, borrow James's family like he always had.

"God rest ye merry, gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay," he sang softly, and allowed himself to hope that next Christmas he would have some part of his own back.


End file.
